


Respect

by suhdude



Series: mafia stuff [2]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band), Ghost B.C.
Genre: Handcuffs, Have some garbage, Multi, Smut, he angry, he yells, i was too turned on to write this well, ive got a thing for guys in suits and it is very apparent, mafia, oh god where to start, protective papa, unprotected, voyerism, yall fuck okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 17:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14899131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suhdude/pseuds/suhdude
Summary: Handcuffs? Mafia? How horny can one person get?





	Respect

The cops hadn’t explained why you had been arrested. One moment you had been relaxing on the sofa in the apartment a certain pope had gifted for when he was out of town, the next, you sat in cuffs in a holding cell. 

It smelled like old carpeting and bleach. It didn’t feel clean. Damp. Uninviting and alien. The cuffs around your wrist were cool, a little too tight, skin pinched in their grasp. Having your hands behind your back was no good. The only comfort was that you had pajamas on, your own, smelling of home. Through the bars you could see the front desk. The whole place held an air of bureaucracy, an unwavering air of dignity for those on the other side of the bars. 

Your sole call was placed to Papas right hand ghoul, unsure of Papa’s whereabouts, you didn’t want to risk wasting the call. He assured you Papa would be made aware of the situation immediately. It was hard to tell what would happen, so for now, you counted bars. 

Two officers approached. Your back straightened. Their eyes were grey and dead. 

“Stand up. You’re being moved.” One spoke.

“Where are you taking me?” You asked, hesitation curling the words as they left you.

“You don’t get to ask any questions.” The other replied. 

Concrete met your socks as you stood, everything had gone so quickly, you just now realized your shoes were missing. The threads hardly kept the frozen floor from you. 

“Hurry it up.” The first spoke again. 

Iron was a powerful sounding metal, the lock clattering as it came undone, the hinges screeching as they moved. The barred door stood open in front of the men. You exited the small space only to feel more crowded. 

Once, you stumbled, neither moved to catch you. You were sure a smirk pressed onto the first mans face. The hall had the same awful smell. It lurked no matter how many steps you took. One corner, another, then they stopped at a large wooden door. The second man opened the door, the first pushed you in. Your foot caught on the metal band that separated the carpet of the hallway from the wood of the room. A loud thud accompanied you to the floor. One man snickered. It stung your pride as the polished wood stung your face. A hand on each arm hoisted you up. Your eyes met brown ones as your feet met the floor again. 

“I don’t believe we have met.” The brown eyed man spoke. “Not in person at least.”

“I have a nagging feeling I would have remembered the hospitality.” You shot back. 

The hands on your arms tightened their grip, threatening to lift you off the ground again. You noticed the carpet smell was gone, it smelled only of bleach, freshly cleaned, sickening. 

“Now,” the man started, unmoved by your words, “I’m detective Cohen, I’m sure by now you’ve figured out why you’re here.” Cohens eyes drifted over you, meeting your face again to inspect it. His hair had no trace of grey, his scalp did of dye. Crows feet and frown lines had begun their appearance. No rookie was he. 

“I have no idea why I was brought here,” you replied plainly, shoulders squaring. 

A smile spread across his lips. It held no good intentions, just painfully bright teeth. “Come on now, such a nice apartment as a gift, a large house, hell, practically a mansion to live with him in when he isn’t on his business trips? Lavish living, goons, returning home at all hours covered in blood? Armed guards? Shipments coming and going like the seasons? Surely you realize I am in the business of knowing. I know the answers, I just need someone to back them up. If you agree to back me in a court, I’ll make sure you don’t serve any time, that you don’t live in the streets. Might even be a decent setup, much better than the cell you were in earlier.” Cohen sat back in his seat, legs spreading slightly. 

“What’ll it be? Gonna be smart about this?” Pearly whites gleamed. 

The grip on your arms loosed then dropped. If you had any control over your hands, they would be rubbing your arms. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” You replied again. 

The detective’s smile faded. He raised a finger, waving the two officers away. Your eyes stayed trained on him. You heard the door handle turn, footsteps leave the wood for carpet, then the door close and latch. 

“I’ll ask again, do you want this the easy way?” His voice was impatient now. “Because, hey, I don’t mind the hard way, but even with the scuff on that face you ain’t too hard on the eyes, would hate to return you to your master as damaged goods. Speaking of, we may keep you nice and tidy, then let it slip you keyed us into the cases of wine, coke in wine cases rather, that your big, tough, man is getting Friday. I’m sure he wouldn’t be fond of his plaything leaking his business. Your choice.”

You eyed the table in front of you, exhaustion lingered closer, a break sounded wonderful. 

“If you want to rest, I’ll give you my seat, just give me something to go on first.” His hand dipped into his suit jacket, pulling a carton of cigarettes. 

“You’re new to this precinct, aren’t you?” you half stated, he bumped the bottom of the carton, placing the protruding cigarette in his mouth.

“You think cracking wise is gonna get you out of here?” The carton disappeared behind the grey wool, a matchbook taking its place in his hand.

“You aren’t young but you’re ambitious, this isn’t your case is it?” His eyebrow raised, he broke the match as he struck it. He quickly grabbed another, lit it, and hollowed his cheeks as the flame met the cigarette. A flash of flame grew, he shook the match out, and the end glowed orange. 

“Not officially, but I’m gonna blow it wide open,” he took another drag from his cigarette, “wide fucking open.”

“So, you went out of your way to take a case that was hidden from you to get ahead, did you even get permission from the sergeant to bring me here? How many people are in on this?” The furrow in the detective’s brow grew deeper. He adjusted his pantlegs, minding the lit tobacco in his hand, and rose from his chair. 

“I’ve got a few friends, don’t need many, your “Papa” isn’t subtle. If you’re gonna open your mouth again, it best be for something useful.” The sound of his shoes on the wood floor echoed in the small room. “Now, you’re gonna tell me what I need to know.”

“I thought you knew everything,” you quipped back. His face contorted more and more as he came closer. 

“My patience is wearing real fucking thin real fuckin fast,” Cohen spoke, anger becoming apparent in the way his voice shook. “I haven’t got all fuckin day.”

The words “I do” leaving your lips was all it took for him to snap, flipping the table hard enough that it crashed against the wall behind you. Your heart drummed manically, threatening to break through your chest. 

“I don’t know what it is with you that makes you think you’ve got any fucking control here, I’m the one in charge! Don’t give me anymore lip or I’ll give you a fat lip in return!” He stalked towards you as a knock came at the door. It didn’t wait for a response before opening. 

“Boss,” one of the officers from earlier said frantically, “Boss, get out here”

“I’m busy.” Cohen said, eyes snapping to the man in the doorway.

“Boss, it’s urgent” the officer spoke again, his eyes less dead, more frightened. 

“Fine.” Cohen turned his head back to you. “Don’t fuckin move.”

You nodded, sneering slightly. The detective rushed from the room, slicking his hair back, cigarette hanging from his lips. The door latched behind him.

The room was empty. The table sat on its side. Your legs were stiff, yet not as stiff as your arms, still cuffed behind you. You moved your fingers to keep the blood flowing. Your mind drifted to the last time you were in cuffs, a very different situation. You snapped back as you heard a knock. Another. 

“Hello?” you called back, turning to face the entryway. The door opened, revealing a familiar ghoul. He nodded his head to you. You nodded back. The ghoul entered the room, three chairs in tow, then another ghoul came in, she carried three chairs as well. You watched as the chairs were lined up against the wall, the chair the detective had been in joining them. Through the still opened door came Papa. He looked you in the eye and rubbed the side of his nose with a bent finger, then pulled on his earlobe, a sign to take his lead. You nodded.

The male ghoul left the room for a moment, returning not a minute later. Papa stood, holding one gloved hand in the other behind his back. He motioned his head at the door. A line of men walked in. First, the commissioner, then the sergeant, two detectives, including the one in the grey suit, then three officers, two of which were from earlier. Some had a look of confusion, some neutral, all of fear when they all turned and laid eyes on Papa. Cohen near dropped. Nervously, the commissioner looked at you, then back to Papa. The only ease in the room seemed to rest with Papa and the ghouls. 

“I’m glad you all could join me, unfortunate as the circumstances may be.” Papa finally spoke, “Please, take a seat.” His voice was calm, his arm left its place behind his back and motioned to the chairs. 

Each man took his seat, looking uneasily at the men beside him. Some fidgeted, others gripped the arm chairs to the point their knuckles whitened. You kept your eyes on the detective in the grey suit. He smoked faster, nerves turning him to a chimney. Papa looked to you, then followed your gaze. His eyes met Cohens. Papa took large slow steps to the man, gently plucked the cigarette from between Cohens lips, and placed it between his own. 

“Now,” Papa took a single drag, dropped the cigarette, and crushed it with the toe of his shining shoe. He turned on his heel to leave his back to the lineup. “It has come to my attention that you have an issue with our arrangement.”

“No issues here, we swear, nothing was-” the sergeant started.

“Did I say it was your turn?” Papa turned his head to the side, indicating he was listening but not willing to meet the man’s eyes.

“No Papa, I just-”

“Interrupt me again, see what happens.” Papa spoke curtly. He motioned his head to the table that lay on its side then towards the empty space between you and the row of filled seats. The ghouls righted the table, moving it to fill the space. As the ghouls did their work, Papa stepped to the three officers. He took the cuffs and keys from the first and third, noticing that the second only had the keys to offer. Each of the officers was visibly shaken by the movement. The ghouls stood on either side of you, hands behind their backs, facing straight forward. Papa turned on his heel, moved to the table in front of you next, leaned against it, just to undo a button on his black suit jacket. The cuffs and keys clattered onto the wood. 

“You, Sergent M. Simmons, I pay for your nieces christening, dress, cake, everything, I am not even of your faith yet I show respect.” Papa started, speaking to the sergeant, not bothering to look at him. “Detective J. Goodwin, I helped you get the house the wife wanted, got you settled in too, I don’t believe we have the same taste, but, I respect you.” He said to the younger detective. Papa let his gaze graze the line. “Are you trying to play me?”

The tension was thick enough to choke on. Mouths gaped then quickly shut. Two men began to curl in on themselves. 

“I asked a question, I expect an answer,” Papa said coolly, eyes drifting back over the line. Silence still. “Well, let me lay things out for you.” His hand dropped to the cuffs, picking them up and swinging them around a finger. He left the table, walking behind you. One of his feet moved your feet apart. He handed a set of cuffs to each of the ghouls. They dropped down and secured your legs to the legs of the table. Unlike the officers, they ensured the cuffs did not pinch. Papas hand met your back, pressing you forward. You let your chest meet the lacquered surface. Papas hand remained.

“Things are arranged in a way that brings us both what we want, what we need.” Confusion again flashed on the mens faces. Papa looked at you, you quickly crossed and uncrossed your fingers three times, signaling that you were okay to continue. 

“You see, our arrangement should be mutually beneficial…” Papas voice trailed as his leather clad hand did the same. It slipped down your spine, leather tracing the thin fabric, reaching the waistband of your sleep pants. He used his thumb to drag the material down. “…something we both can enjoy…” he continued, a finger pressed against you, teasing your entrance. A moan escaped you, two of the cops cleared their throats. Papa continued, eyes flowing over the line again. He removed his hand, took a step away, and popped the finger into his mouth, letting his eyes drift closed for a moment. He turned his head to the female ghoul motioning it to you, before dragging his finger out of his mouth to face the police. You felt the female ghoul’s hands trace down your ass, moving the pajama pants the rest of the way down your legs. They rested just above the cuffs. Her hands traced back up your legs, spreading you open as she placed kisses on each thigh, her mouth working its way up.

“You see, even if one of us is busy, we should ensure the other is taken care of, looked after.” Papa said as he began to pace the line. He held his head high, only looking straight forward. One leather clad hand holding the other behind his back, pulling his shoulders back. Eyes trailed him, trying to anticipate what would happen next. The only time they faltered was when the ghoul behind you pulled a moan from your throat. You could feel her tongue working you. Your nipples grew hard against the table as it shifted from a forked form to a thicker form, silky slick against you. The room smelled less harshly of bleach as the musky scent of arousal filled the air. 

“Now, we should, by now, be at the point where one can be completely exposed to the other and still have no doubt they will get what they need,” Papa continued. The male ghoul came closer, pulling up part of your shirt. He bore his claws and began to cut the fabric away, the cool air lapping at your back the way the ghoul between your legs did. You felt one of her hands join her mouth in working you, you swore, eyes closing as you savored the sensation. The male ghoul, once done removing the shirt, returned to his place a few paces behind the table. 

“But here we are, again and again, a new face replacing one that has had a tragic accident. I am a forgiving man, but I am no fool. Do you take me for a fool?” His voice began to rise as his paces slowed. His hands unclasped from one another, moving in front of him. “You, speak up!” He turned abruptly to question one of the officers, pulling a gun from his waistband and resting it an inch from their face, “Do you take me for a fool?” 

“I, Papa, no, no, Papa, I-” He stammered helplessly, eyes darting rapidly everywhere, avoiding looking directly down the barrel of the gun. His back was stiff and straight. 

“I see…” Papa trailed, his arm slowly lowering. The man in front of him slowly began releasing the breath he worried was his last. Each and every cop now sat board straight, scared. The ghoul pleasuring you let her tongue shift between forms more rapidly, practically vibrating. 

“Not only do you interrupt a very important meeting,” Papa spoke, “wasting my time and the time of my associates,” he moved closer to the table again, waving the gun, “but you break into my apartment, you take my hands and cuff them, take my face and scuff it?” Papa grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks as he presented the mark on your face to the line of cops before you. “When you ask for money, I give it to you, when you want a favour, I handle it, now, look!” His grip tightened. Eyes met yours, please from them unspoken, pin thin pupils meeting your dilated ones. Papas eyes scanned the room. A sigh escaped him as moans steadily left you. He turned his head to the woman behind you, nodding it to the place she had been standing before. She shifted, and stood, returning to her spot, hands behind her back, shoulders pulled, face dripping. 

You could hear Papas shoes as they moved on the wooden floor. They, along with the uneasy breathing, were the only noise in the room. That was, until you heard his gun being placed on the table. His suit jacket slipped off his shoulders. A ghouls footsteps, a pause, footsteps again. The sound of Papa rolling up his sleeves. A zipper. Everyone’s breath seemed to hitch. The wet sound of Papa stroking his own cock filled your ears. You felt the dripping cockhead nudge against your entrance, pressing in, stretching you more than the ghoul had. His free hand moved to loosen his tie and undo a button before resting on your ass.

“I try to be considerate,” he said, pausing a moment, “kind,” another pause, he sank deeper just to pull back “I try and I try,” he sighed, he watched your hands, you quickly crossed and uncrossed your fingers three times, “and this is what you do to repay me?” All but his cockhead left you, “You bend me over and FUCK ME? HUH?” Papas hips slammed against yours, the near stillness devolved into deep hard thrusts, gasps and slick slapping noises filled the room. Papas gloved hands held you, one on your ass, the other holding the chain connecting the handcuffs. The moments you could keep your eyes open, you noticed how no one was looking, either they stared at the ground, the ceiling or hid behind their own hands.

"What? I thought you’d love watching me get fucked!” Papa yelled. “Look me in the eye! You gonna keep disrespecting me?!" His voice shocked the cops, each ones eyes snapping to him, fear and arousal plastering their faces. “ANSWER ME!”

A chorus of nos clattered from their mouths, desperate to find Papas ears in good graces.

“NO WHAT?” Papa bellowed, his body vibrating.

“No Papa!” came as an avalanche, crashing, pieces coming from each mouth, all at once yet far from in unison. You could feel your legs growing weaker as Papa adjusted slightly, hitting a spot that made your head swim. 

“You lousy no good ass kissing buffoons! You try to blackmail me?! Take my people into custody?! Try to ruin my business?!” His grip tightened as his thrusts became harder, the table visibly scooting. His gun and the keys bounced dangerously. The hand he had on the chain to the cuffs moved to hold your hands, giving you something to grip. You dug your nails in just to stay grounded.

“Tell them, isn’t it humiliating to be exposed like this? Absolutely helpless? Don’t you feel disrespected, degraded?” Papa said, dipping his head next to your ear. His clothed chest brushing your bare back. His eyes moved to drift from each of the cops, locking a moment before passing to the next.

“Y-yes Papa,” you stammered.

“Again.” He demanded, hand moving from your ass, down to stroke you.

“Yes Papa! Yes! Fuck!” you screamed, convulsing around him, spasms rocking you. You pushed your face to the table as the words began to slur into more moans.  
Papa continued, his chest leaving your back, each stroke more potent now to your overstimulated flesh. Your body quickly built up and released as he continued. 

“LISTEN TO ME AND LISTEN WELL, DON’T YOU EVER EVEN THINK OF DISRESPECTING ME AGAIN!” Papa’s voice boomed. You released again, weak legs doing all they could to keep you rocking against him. His hands each found a place on your hips, his movements erratic as you felt his cock jump. He was impossibly warm, jet after jet filling you. 

Papa rested for a moment, his hands on the table beside you, surveying the lineup. He straightened his tie, righted himself in his pants, and took a step back before closing his button and fly. Papa motioned to the male ghoul, it wasn’t a moment before you felt his tongue between your legs, cleaning you. You were left panting as Papa walked over the Cohen. Without a word, he took the detectives handkerchief, wiped his brow, and dropped the cloth on the floor. Papa turned on his heel, Cohen left mouth agape and speechless. 

The ghoul pulled away, both him and the female ghoul with similar yet contrasting shines on their faces. Papa grabbed the keys and gun from in front of you and undid the cuffs on your legs and around your wrists. You braced yourself against the table, too distracted by the weakness in your legs to rub your aching wrists. Papa took his suit jacket and wrapped it around you, a moment later scooping you up to carry you. He turned to the dumbfounded commissioner.

“Next time it won’t be civil, I’ll paint your fucking walls again,” he warned. “Keep your detectives in line.”

He turned to the ghouls and motioned to the exit, one left in front of you, the other after. The hallway smelled of old carpet and bleach. None of the cops followed you out. 

“Archie is the rat, the detective said his informant knew of a shipment of incoming coke in wine cases. He’s the only one who was told it was coke instead of wine, everyone else knew better. I told you if anyone, it’d be Archie.” You spoke, voice raw.

“You are a gift, I knew our merger would be beneficial.” Papa praised, his lips placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> i did the best i could do rn


End file.
